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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657932">now that fear is all the rage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>regret and pain [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Suede (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bernard Is Having A Bad Time, Brett Anderson Has Daddy Issues, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:41:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>979</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>are we like shadows? we'll be like shadows<br/>and with a love that burns - ignite the petrol<br/>and with a love that burns - destroy all our possessions<br/>and with a love that burns - reveal the scratches<br/>we'll build a funeral pyre here.<br/>Set in 1994 - just before the split</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brett Anderson/Bernard Butler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>regret and pain [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>now that fear is all the rage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pitter-patter of London was something quite welcoming to Bernard. Today, it felt like a slap in the face, kicking through puddles and sighing on the Tube. He'd been dealing with some strange demons lately, ones taunting him over cowardice, deceit and the type of horrific, loving hatred that could tear someone apart limb from limb. Particularly the deep and heavy pit that arose in his chest when he thought of Brett, their nights together, tugging on his hair and leaning in for a kiss.</p><p>Fragmented nights and all too quick days, spent yelling at one another then making up for it with bruises on the neck. He'd listen back to his own music sometimes, pondering each lyric and knowing - those were for him. Here and there, Brett's girlfriends had songs and lines, but he knew the songs were for him the most. Brett likely felt the same about Bernard's tortured but ethereal solos.</p><p>Did he believe in love there? Was he just like Brett's father? Could they one day, escape it all? He knew Brett loved it - he was always one for attention, his eyes fluttering slyly while an interviewer hung on his every interpretation, Bernard shuffling awkwardly waiting for some kind of question that wasn't about Brett. On harder days, Bernard would think to himself Brett wasn't about the music anymore, none of it was about them anymore.</p><p>That was until he'd hear him sing each new line, a reference here and there to dreams shared and time spent together, agony through knowing it wouldn't last forever but relief in knowing it was a beautiful specimen of the kind of love one can only experience once. Brett knew that he was losing Bernard band wise, and due to their public nature and their girlfriends that he'd lose him where it actually hurt too. Being wound up until a climax was something Brett couldn't handle - he knew the time was coming and it was only counting down. Bernard would have enough, and he'd leave him. And there was nothing he could ever do to stop it. He knew that, really: but he wanted to prove that they were good. </p><p>Brett wanted to prove desperately that their love was something to stay for, simply because it was, but he knew life isn't simple. The complex answer was that their life was as abnormal as is, and if anyone ever found out, or they carried on in the band, it would either lead to disaster, or worse in Brett's eyes, obscurity. Bernard could be difficult music wise, Brett wanting to give him everything he ever wanted but his own ego bursting through that dream and leading into furrowed eyebrows and frustrated walkouts. He knew, deep down, that they would crash and burn. </p><p>Brett and Bernard were like Bonnie and Clyde, though. They'd live together in a blaze of glory and die on the hill they made. Nothing would end this other than themselves. It wasn't just about the producer, or about how long a solo was, it was about them. Bernard couldn't bring himself to love someone he could hate so much. Brett couldn't bear to stay with Bernard long enough for it to hurt too hard if he lost him. This meant that, despite them, and all they ever were, all they ever believed in - each other, were destined to die.</p><p>Although, this made the best moments sombre and addicting at the same time. An oxymoron of pleasure and greed, both savouring each and every second with the other. They knew their time was coming to an end, and in secret they'd spend days hating the other and nights on top of each other. Brett wished that, in another universe, another world, another chance, it was them. Because, all in all, it was always Bernard. It'd never be anyone else. No one else was like him. He would love, and he would lose, and he would hurt, but no one was Bernard; no one would ever impact him the same. He simply wouldn't allow it even if it could ever happen.</p><p>Oftentimes it felt like a distraught game of chess, slowly marching towards its end, strategically but elegant. Bernard liked to think about their first moment, turning up for the audition knowing he was better than them - but taking a liking to Brett, shyly smiling while playing the guitar part he was aware the boy had never heard anyone like him. Those notes struck a chord, literally, infiltrating each other's veins and connecting them with a string of infatuation. On occasion Bernard would long for their hesitant days, exploring one another and finding nothing but flaw, but it would be so enthralling, believing wholeheartedly that someone so imperfect could strike a match and let the flame reach the skies, higher and higher. The peak of this fire would never cease, everlasting. </p><p>They were a passionate blaze, charming shadows, intertwining in a tango of love-hate. Thin men dancing, unearthing dirt and truth behind the other, shells and walls, loathsome glances and doting, yearning grazes.</p><p>Would they ever find something like that again? It was only a dream, fantasy. Their relationship was tumultuous fantasy, created by two lonely souls wishing to connect in dark blue London skies.</p><p>He'd live it all over again. He'd leave a new kiss every time he glossed over the memory. He'd inch further and further to that dream, their life together, he'd create each new scenario and imagine what it'd be like to touch him that way one more time - even a grab on the wrist, a peck on the cheek, anything. He was an addict through and through, they both were, it was always a horrible aching addiction that would rot their teeth as it aged and bring up adoring bile with the reminiscent smell of leather and denim pressing against each other at dusk.</p>
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